


Gray Eyes and a Scarlet Room

by Rovioletlily



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Trauma, Ramsay is his own warning, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-29 17:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10858881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rovioletlily/pseuds/Rovioletlily
Summary: The first time Theon Greyjoy pushes the counselor's door open, he takes in the battered nameplate stating Ramsay Bolton and lets out a disdainful laugh. The first time Theon steps in, he brims with confidence.. And more importantly, defiance.The thirteenth time Theon slouches in, he quivers and bows his head at the counselor, his arms instinctively wrapping around himself. By the thirteenth time, the sight of his counselor is enough for Theon's limbs to lock together, and tears slide ceaselessly down his face.And by the thirteenth time, as Ramsay Bolton faces the drawn, nervous face, with the darting glances that look anywhere except for his own gray, pitiless eyes, Ramsay knows Theon is his.





	1. ↳NOW: CHAPTER 1↲

_A taste of the present, before Theon is sent in the past.._

**↳NOW: CHAPTER 1↲**

Theon pauses, hesitates. With one shaking hand, he knocks the door as lightly as possible. For a second, there’s silence on the other end, and Theon seizes the chance to turn and prepares to run in the opposite direction. But then a voice calls out, “Enter, please,” and his back stiffens before he slumps over.

The first thing he sees when he steps into the room is the dark brown floor. The way Theon's staring into the ground, it’s not as if he could see anything else. But then _he_ clears his throat, softly as he always does, and the clear impatience in that cough is enough to prompt him to tear his gaze away from the floor and gaze into the eyes of his counselor. What he sees there is enough for his legs to lose their stability - what he sees in those eyes is enough to send him screaming, shrieking, wailing, away from the stark room he's trapped in.

But then, as if sensing his raging turmoil, his counselor stands up and walks from behind his desk. Before Theon can blink, there's a pale hand gripping his arm, propelling him forwards to sit on the single chair positioned in front of the desk. That simple touch sends whispers of countless memories spiraling through his mind. Unbidden, the memories of darker touches, touches that burned him alive, rise up again. Only when Theon is finally sitting rigid against the chair, does _he_ let go and turn away. He hears the soft click of the door and, on cue, his counselor's reassurance: "So we can have complete privacy."

At those words, memories flood Theon relentlessly, and he struggles to keep his composure. If he shows for a second, allows _him_ to see the full extent of his anxieties, it will be all over. Those visits will have been for nothing. And so he digs his nails into his palms, ignoring the fresh pain that washes over them, and sits up straighter.

His counselor saunters back to his fancy desk and sits there slowly, leaning forwards to meet Theon's gaze. Those gray eyes pin him sharply, so that he can't look away even if he tried. Gray eyes he once thought as kind, empathetic. Gray eyes that, now, remind him of a shark, cold and dead.

"Why, you're so tense, Theon," says his counselor, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly. Theon nods, not trusting himself to speak. _He_ looks down and shuffles the documents on his desk, but both of them know it's just for show. From the very first day, none of _his_ 'counseling' ever made it onto the paper.

"Maybe it would be good for you to think about all of the progress you've made."

At those words, his counselor doesn't bother concealing his smile, the malicious delight curling those lips and transforming his face. Theon inhales sharply, unable to help himself.

"Do you remember?" His counselor prods at him experimentally, and his smile continues to widen. Theon gazes at that face, transfixed. Dread curls around his stomach until he thinks he's going to be sick, but he _can't look away._

Silence reigns.

But finally, when that taunting grin turns threatening, and his counselor's eyes grow cold, once again impatient, Theon knows his time is up. He opens his mouth, praying his voice won't leave him in his freezing fear. He swallows, his throat achingly dry. Then, he steels himself, and says, in the faintest voice he's ever used, "I remember... Ramsay."


	2. ↳THEN: CHAPTER 2↲

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeyne is ready to let Theon go.. and Ramsay is ready to pull him in.

_He runs after her, but Theon senses Jeyne is already gone.._

**↳THEN: CHAPTER 2↲**

Theon draws to a stop, resisting the urge to curse. He pauses a second, then two, before resuming his mad chase after Jeyne. She doesn't look back, even when he bellows out for her to wait. With a savage energy that surprises both of them, she slams the door of her car before pulling out of the school's driveway. Then she's gone, and all he can see is her shrinking car in the distance. 

He notices his hands are shaking and fumbles around in his pockets for a lighter. All he finds are some ticket stubs, from the movie that he and Jeyne went to two days ago. He throws them to the ground and walks slowly back towards the school, a faint ringing in his ears. Theon bites back another curse as he notices the door is locked; he has to go in through the back. 

Both of them knew it was coming. Theon saw it in the stiffness of her shoulders when he wrapped his arms around her, the tightness around her eyes whenever he tried to cajole her into joining him into a drink. But he didn't want to admit it. Didn't want to admit that the one girl who didn't use him for money or sex would eventually decide to finally leave him. _Like they always do._ He grimaces as he remembers how Jeyne refused to look into his eyes until the last moment, when she screamed in a last burst of frustration: "We're  _done._ It's  _over,_ Theon."

And deep down, he knows it's true. 

He tries to count how many times they broke up, only for her to let him back in again. Six, seven? Theon isn't quite sure. He tries to reassure himself that he  _tried_ \- he didn't invite any girls over when she worked at the cafe, except for that one time; he didn't completely ignore all of his schoolwork,  and he isn't failing six of his classes anymore. She tried to hold them together, and so did he. 

But in the end, it wasn't enough. 

A plain, brown-haired girl crosses the hallway, and he pounds on the door to gain her attention. When she sees who it is, her face flushes and turns a deep red. Despite himself, Theon smirks languidly at her, raising an eyebrow suggestively. 

When he plants a kiss on her cheek, and she hurries away from him, giggling, he tries to ignore the hollow feeling in his chest. Two months and three weeks. They were almost a normal couple. Theon thinks of those rushed dates where he struggled to show her a perfect gentlemen before he had to return home and face his dismissive, empty father. He remembers those times in the small coffee shop where she pressed closer to him for warmth and he held her back, before violently pushing her away after catching sight of his incredulous sister. _Jeyne wanted a normal boyfriend._ Theon kicks his locker twice, but it doesn't help and he only gets an aching foot for his efforts.  _And she knew I wasn't normal._

He takes in a single, shuddering breath, before he forces himself to stroll into the nearly empty classroom. His history teacher surveys him disapprovingly, but Theon acts as if he isn't twenty minutes late and settles down at his desk with a questioning, innocent look. His teacher finally looks away and lapses back into that mindless lecture tone that Theon tunes out immediately. 

Theon thrusts his hands deep into the pockets of his tight jeans and pauses when he feels paper brush against his fingers. He pulls the scrap of paper out quickly. A receipt from the coffee shop. He barely registers those printed words before he crumples it in his fist. Theon's aware of Jon shuffling next to him in interest, and he closes his eyes. What he wouldn't give for a cigarette to light. 

"..and I expect an essay completed by Friday," his teacher reminds the class just before the bell rings. Theon rises up quickly, glancing over to check the empty seat where Jeyne always sits.  _She's done and she's gone,_ he thinks, pushing her away as firmly as he can. Then Robb is walking towards him, his face holding nothing but concern. 

They walk out of the room in silence, and it's only when Theon is back at his locker that the silence is broken. "I heard Jeyne.. left," Robb says cautiously. "Your Jeyne, I mean. I mean, she's not yours anymore, but she used to - "

"I get it," snaps Theon, and he tries to cover his annoyance with a laugh. " _Your_ Jeyne is just around the corner, after all." He nods towards Jeyne Westerling, whose face is lit up in a radiant smile. "You should probably walk her to her next class or something.

His voice comes out harsh, almost unfamiliar to his own ears. Robb hesitates, but Theon waves wildly towards the direction of Robb's girlfriend, and he finally relents. "Just.. text me if you need anything, won't you?" 

"Yeah." Theon is already backing away, with only one goal in mind now. He doesn't bother telling Robb that he left his phone at Jeyne's earlier today. "See you." Then he turns and hurries to the nearest bathroom, wondering what the teacher will say if he stumbles into class half drunk.

When he swings open the door, he holds back a groan. Joffrey Baratheon sneers at him from his place at the mirror, surveying him disdainfully. Theon is in no mood to deal with the mouthy, arrogant freshman. For a second, they look at each other silently, and then Joffrey runs a hand lazily through his hair. "You know, I bet that she'd dump you before January, so I can at least say you missed my mark by at least a month," he remarks, pursing his thick lips. "Maybe I'll have a go at her later today, see what I've been missing out."

He leers at Theon, cocking an eyebrow expectantly. Blood rushes to Theon's head, and he thinks of ten different retorts, but all he manages to say is, "Apparently word travels fast."

Joffrey straightens. "The whole school was waiting for it," he says, leaning forwards as if telling a secret. "Now half of the school is wondering who you'll f*ck next, and the other half is getting ready to cozy right up with you in a closet." Theon feels something bitter and dark rise up in his chest as the blond boy steps closer, undaunted by his warning glare. "Of course, this was only to be expected. What did  _you_ think would happen, Theon, personally? Go on. I want to hear what you believed.. personal, deep,  _intimate_ thoughts from the biggest wh*re in King's Landing."

Theon clenches his fists.  _This is nothing new,_ he reminds himself, shrugging it away and pushing Joffrey's words deep down a well. Theon lets the words run down into a dark place where no one will ever hear them again, only to be picked at by him in the smallest corner of his house at two o'clock in the morning. Joffrey is sneering now, and picking up his backpack from the ground, evidently satisfied for the day.

Theon imagines it - him closing his mouth and letting him walk past, waiting until the door shuts. All he has to do is wait and let Joffrey slink away. All he has to do is breathe in, out, in, out. 

Then his mouth opens, and he says, "This wh*re thinks that if you didn't beat Sansa Stark black and blue, maybe girls would be willing to go within twenty feet of you, and you wouldn't have to be satisfied with cheap p*rn smuggled onto your phone all the time."

Joffrey's smile doesn't fade from his face, but his eyes turn monstrous, his teeth pressing together. "What did you say, Greyjoy?" he asks softly, and he steps towards Theon as menacingly as possible. Theon isn't cowed; he's four inches taller than the freshman, who's the opposite of strong. It's never really mattered for Joffrey, though; he preys on the weak, and his mother has always been there to clean up his mistakes.

"Clench your teeth," Theon replies, and then his fist slams into the boy, right on his mouth. 

Joffrey is on the ground first, scratching and cursing and howling at Theon, who doesn't say a word. He puts all of his focus on bloodying that pale, arrogant face, seeing nothing but red, hearing nothing but his sneering comments. Joffrey claws at Theon, his voice turning high pitched before finally breaking off into wordless pants.

 ~

In the end, it takes three people to pull them apart. Theon is beyond caring at this point, thinking wildly if he can just land one more punch, knock a tooth from Joffrey's mouth, then Jeyne will be back, she'll be back, _she'll be with him again._

Then, as Robb and Jon pull him to the principal's office, Jeyne's face fades away, and he's mumbling incoherently, his old mantra rising up. If he drinks one more drink, gets high one more time, someone will stay with him, someone will stay, _someone will stay,_ and all those who have left him will come back. They will all come back, and he will not be alone. He's beyond reason, and for several frozen minutes in time, he wishes desperately that he's another person - someone with a regular,  _normal_ life, someone who doesn't sink into drugs and sex rather than facing whatever problems he has. He wants to start again, he thinks wildly.  _I could run away, all the way to Winterfell._ But it's not long before he sees reason, and he kicks those thoughts away with all the force he can muster before sliding on a cocky grin and facing Ned Stark. 

In the end, thanks to a few heated phone calls from his father, Theon leaves the room with nothing more than a yellow sheet of paper requiring him to take at least thirty hours of counseling with Joffrey before the end of the year.  _Counseling,_ he thinks in disgust. He labels counseling right underneath doing 'meditative yoga' in terms of usefulness.

He practically throws himself into his chair in Spanish class, letting his jacket hang loose on his shoulders for anyone curious enough to look. It only takes two minutes for a girl to pass him a note. _Meet up after school? ;) - C_

He raises his eyes and gives the girl a roguish grin, smoothly assessing her. She's not bad on the eyes, with short, dark hair and a pair of gray glasses. She smiles back, not unshyly, and he can feel her gaze on him for the rest of class.

It's only when he's back at his locker again does he realize that he doesn't even know her name.

Theon's in the middle of tossing his binders in when he hears the hall go silent. He twists his head and sees Joffrey's back, right before he moves away into the direction of the main entrance of King's Landing High. He doesn't bother trying to conceal his smirk as he watches the boy hobble away.

Then he looks at that yellow sheet resting on top of his jacket, and he pulls it out of his locker slowly. His first thought is that he won't be able to meet up with that girl from Spanish; his second is that he'll be counseling alone. He snorts in disgust, imagining a perky blonde woman trying to lead him through 'friendship exercises' or whatever.

He heads off to his next class, slightly subdued. Theon is knocked out of his thoughts, though, when someone kicks him. He turns around, instantly on edge; no doubt it's another reedy freshman trying to get revenge for Joffrey. 

But it's only Arya. She smirks at him as she slips past him into the classroom, and after a moment of hesitation, he follows and sits right next to her. Both of them wait a few minutes for the teacher to set up the presentation before they begin passing notes.

**_Heard you kicked Joffrey's a*s. Sansa's delighted, but she tried not to show it._ **

_Oh, really? How's she holding up?_

**_Well enough. The college senior who stopped Joffrey, Shane or Sawyer, has been visiting her after school. Isn't another 'Joffrey' so I don't really care._ **

_Oh. So have you seen Jeyne P around by any chance?_

**_Can you get any more obvious?_ **

Arya shoots him a patronizing look, and he flushes, scribbling down an answer as fast as he can.

_I was just wondering, I know she's one of your friends._

_**And now she's not your girlfriend.** _

_Everyone knows, huh?_

_**What do you think?** _

_It doesn't matter, anyway. Just another hookup - who cares?_

Maybe if he writes it down enough, repeats it enough, thinks of that enough, he'll believe it. 

~

He ignores the door beckoning him towards the guidance counselor, instead setting off towards the front yard. Theon wonders if that girl is still up for meeting at her place. He's so close to leaving the school, mere feet away from stepping outside, when Robb calls out to him. 

"Where're you going?" 

He turns and forces a nonchalant look on his face. "Just.. heading out."

Robb cocks his head curiously. "What about that counseling thing?"

Theon widens his eyes, adopting a guileless expression. "Oh, that? Joffrey left early, so I thought it was canceled or something."

Robb steps to the side, forcing Theon to stop inching towards the exit. "I know it's not going to be exciting, but my dad's insisting on it. It's either that or an indefinite suspension. D*mn it, Theon, didn't you hear Cersei screeching at him, trying to get you expelled?"

Theon tried to say something, feeling something suspiciously like guilt creep over him, but Robb continued. "He's offering you a chance, and we're all praying you'll take it. You've been at King's Landing for nearly two years - one and a half more, and you can go wherever you want. It's getting harder, Theon, and you know it. The way Cersei is breathing down his neck, you won't survive another trip up."

He resists the urge to throw up his arms like a child. "Show me where to go," he grumbles petulantly. Robb laughs, sounding relieved, and steers him towards guidance. 

The two of them slow down as they walk through the narrow hallway. "Which person is it?" Theon asks, pausing to peer through a door. A red haired, willowy lady is typing away at a laptop, her back to the door.  _Doesn't seem too old, she could work._

Robb sees his interested stare and immediately pulls him away. "No women for you," he half jokes, but there's a slight edge in his voice. 

"Do you really think I'm going to hook up with someone who's twenty years older than me?" Theon laughs, but he feels the sting of Robb's judgement. 

"Thirty, and there's always a chance."

They move past two more doors, and Theon glimpses a severe looking woman speaking to a young girl. In the other, there's no one. Finally, they stop before the last door. There's no window, and Theon shifts, wondering what he'll look like. "I've heard he's excellent at understanding troubled teenagers. He's definitely the most experienced with situations like yours. He'll smooth out your relationship with Joffrey in no time," says Robb, sounding as if he's read that information right off of a brochure. 

"That'll happen when Joffrey stops acting like a self righteous prick who doesn't know how to stop running his mouth," Theon retorts. "Or should I say, never."

Robb suddenly jerks away from him, staring at his watch. "I'm ten minutes late for baseball," he says anxiously, halfway down the hall before he's even finished speaking. "I've got to go - tell me how it goes later!"

"I.." Theon watches his friend bolt away, his voice dying off, "will."

He's not sure if the counselor heard their exchange. Nonetheless, he knocks sharply, rapping on the door three times. Theon leans back, expecting someone to open the door. Instead, a voice calls, "You can come in."

Theon strides into the room, and stops dead, trying to stuff his laughter back down his throat. 

In contrast to the older women that he saw in the other rooms, his counselor is young, so young that Theon wonders for a moment if he's still in college or something. Instead of the warm or assertive auras he sensed from the other women, his counselor leans against his chair, looking positively plain. Theon lets his eyes trail over the loose shirt and the curly hair, a smirk rising from his face. He figures that the counselor will take seventy, maybe even one hundred dollars, before he'll take a bribe and let Theon go. He looks unbelievably relaxed, his desk empty except for the slightly rusted, battered nameplate placed in the middle.  _Ramsay Bolton._

The name triggers something in Theon's memory, but he can't remember what. It doesn't matter - his counselor interrupts his thoughts with a casual smile. "Theon, is it?" 

"Yes," he says, wondering why his counselor looks so.. hungry.  _That's not the right word,_ Theon thinks, but nothing else can explain the way his eyes are raking him from head to toe, almost as if he's dissecting him. 

"Where's Joffrey Baratheon?" 

Ramsay Bolton peers behind him, and the strange feeling fades. "Uh.. he went home early," says Theon, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "Look, let's just get this over with. How much money do you want?"

"Excuse me?"

"Money," Theon repeats. "You and I both know that this counseling will do nothing. So what do you say, fifty dollars and you let me out an hour or two early?"

That look is back again. His counselor rises slowly from his chair and steps out from his desk, his head tilted slightly. He's shorter than Theon by at least two inches, but somehow he seems otherworldly, his body lean and his eyes sharp. "My sessions tend to be an hour and thirty minutes long."

"Seventy-five, then."

The counselor tilts his head even further to the side. "I don't understand what you're implying. Are you saying you wish to leave early? Are you sick?" A smile appears, but somehow the sight of it unnerves Theon - his teeth are almost  _bared_ at him, like a dog would do. 

"I'm leaving your counseling, man," he snaps finally, frustrated. "I have better things to do than to sit down for two hours and talk about emotional reconciliation or whatever crap Ned Stark has signed me up for. A hundred dollars and I'm out of your hands."

"I insist you sit down, Mr. Greyjoy," says the counselor. "Or would you prefer for me to call you Theon?

Theon runs a hand through his hair in frustration. _That girl is probably gone by now_ , he thinks sourly. "I don't care."

"I see, Theon. Please, have a seat - and call me Ramsay."

Theon eyes the chair, wondering how the counselor will react if he picks it up and tosses it at him. He can't believe that this man is actually trying to go through with the counseling.  _That's what they're paid to do, after all._ All he needs to do is offer to pay more. "One hundred fifty," he offers. The man pauses.

When Ramsay walks towards him, he thinks he's won - but then the man passes him, walks right up to the door, and closes it. "So we can have complete privacy." As Theon stands there in disbelief, Ramsay strides back to his desk and settles down on his chair comfortably. He refuses to move, but after several tense moments drag by, he finally moves forward and sinks into the chair. 

"That's better." Ramsay leans toward him, his fingers interlaced together as he offers Theon a wide, friendly smile. "Believe me as I say that I look forwards to getting to know you, Theon.. very much."

He doesn't know if it's the convincing words, the way that he says that so earnestly, that makes him believe him. Or if it's the way those gray eyes, sharp and assessing, seem to drink Theon in as if there's nothing he wants more than to become friends. Or if it's the way that his teeth glimmer, the way that he licks his lips so quickly that Theon isn't sure if he really saw that. 

He knows it's too late - he knows he might as well go through the ninety minutes without complaining so much. So he nods and mutters something back, wondering when Ramsay Bolton will stop gazing at him as if he wants to eat him up. 

~

Theon knows he might as well stay. Ramsay can see it in the slight slump of his shoulders, the way his eyes lose some of that impatient stare. 

Across the desk, he conceals a wide grin. 

Yes, Theon knows he might as well stay.. but he has no idea, absolutely no idea that Ramsay will never let him leave.

He licks his lips again, savoring the thought of hours he'll spend picking away at Theon, hours he'll spend tearing him apart and rebuilding him into someone new. It might not be easy from the start; it will take time before that arrogance is stripped away. Weeks, even, where he'll return to this room sulking and refusing to listen to him. It will take time for Theon Greyjoy to obey him, time before he'll stop questioning what he demands. 

But Ramsay has all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this seemed interesting enough! This is my first Thramsay fanfic, so hope you all enjoy. <3


End file.
